


all i see are stars in your eyes

by kakashihatake123



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, I just ship this movie every which way, Slow Burn, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya heard the familiar scratch of a needle pressing against fresh vinyl and the slow murmur as the record player warmed up, soft tones of music melting into the silence that had dominated the room and rising to his ear. Right then and there he knew he should have left. He should have left everything behind and just gone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i see are stars in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from the prompt sent on tumblr: "I was wondering if you could write a fic about gaby/illya when they were wrestling. I would love an internal monologue from Illya if you could!"

Illya Kuryakin should have left. He should have gotten to his feet and abandoned his half played game of chess, for he was not truly playing it anyway. He should have just stood up and left the room as soon as he heard the needle drop on the record player.

But he supposed he was curious to see what would happen. Gaby Teller had gone through a quarter of the bottle she had fished from behind the bar in two drinks, the crystal cup in her hand hanging halfway between her mouth and the head of the clear bottle but her eyes were nothing less than sharp, watching him as though she was a caged animal and he was her prey, hungrily, lustfully, hungry for something she could not have.

She offered one of the cups, the clink of ice loud against the side of the glass. “Drink with me.” she said.

The chessboard screamed for his attention and he pushed forward his knight, knowing he could easily capture the queen. “No. Thank you.” Illya said, forcing his eyes away from her.

Her lips were parted and slightly red from the heat of the shower she had taken just a few moments before and her dark hair was damp, curling at the nape of her neck and the head of her brow and she looked far better in her pinstriped pajamas than any woman should ever have the right to.

“I will finish this bottle.” said Gaby decisively, downing the drink she had offered. She dropped the glass back on the table, right in the center of the marble board, as though Illya was not distracted enough.

She stood sharply and he could no longer hold his gaze from her, his eyes following her movements as she crossed to the bedroom. Her bare feet padded against the soft tile floors and he could hear the sharp intake of breath she took as the coldness of the marble, walking more quickly until she reached the square of carpet between their twin beds.

The day before Illya had taken the bed by the window so he could have something else to look at beside her sleeping form, curled in the next bed. He supposed he should have kept the crimson curtains on the wall pulled shut but he could use any excuse not to stare at her.

 _She must know_ , he thought, turning back to the chess game, seeing only now that the queen was in no position to be taken.

Gaby must know how he felt. It was written in his eyes each time he looked upon her, from the way his cheeks flushed and his dark eyes widened to the parting of his lips and the dryness that filled his mouth each time she smiled at him. _She must know_.

Illya heard the familiar scratch of a needle pressing against fresh vinyl and the slow murmur as the record player warmed up, soft tones of music melting into the silence that had dominated the room and rising to his ear. Right then and there he knew he should have left. He should have left everything behind and just gone. Perhaps Napoleon was not entertaining the front desk girl tonight and could….

The rest of the thought wiped clean from his mind. In the reflection of the crystal mirror he could see her moving, swaying from side to side in time with the music that had now roared to life, filling the suite with sound.

Even now she was graceful, as in all things she did, with half a bottle of unfiltered vodka in her belly and little more. Even in her blue and white pinstriped pajamas. Even half exhausted, with half lidded eyes and pink cheeks.

Her body curled and swayed from side to side, the bottle cradled in one of her hands, the other waving in the air above her head. Turning the knob on the record player the music spiked even louder and there was absolutely no way he would be able to finish his game now. Not that he had any intention to do so, at least not since he had caught the sight of her hips swaying.

For a moment he was paralyzed, just watching her before he shot to his feet, nearly sending the chessboard flying clear across the room in his haste. Gaby did not seem fazed, turning towards him and offering a free hand. “Dance with me.” she said.

He spoke through half gritted teeth, trying to edge around her and to the bedroom. “I don’t dance.”

Again Gaby remained unfazed, the warmth of the drink practically shining through her body like sunlight. “You can’t dance or you won’t?”

“Let’s call it both.” Said Illya, again trying to move around her. He need only reach the door of the bathroom and he would be free of the torment that was watching her dance and not being able to dance with her.

She stepped before him, blocking him bodily. Thought she was small in comparison to him and her head reached only the lower end of his chest, she managed to block the space completely, following him each time he tried to step around her.

Her hand was soft and smooth as marble, tracing his forearm. His heart began to beat solidly in his throat, the room becoming very, very dark except for her moving figure. The music was overwhelming, the beat beginning to mimic the pounding in his chest as every ounce of blood in his body seemed to rush to his head.

At his sides his hands had clenched into fists so tightly he could feel his fingers making bruises against his palms. “Illya.” Gaby whispered.

Her voice was soft and smooth, just barely audible over the sound of music. Her hand reached up to graze his own, her fingers entwining with his like grasping branches and the moment she had touched him it was as if all the anxiety had evaporated from his body like smoke until nothing but calmness remained.

Gaby had taken his hands, pulling herself closer. She smiled up at him, her eyes shaded by the cover of the white sunglasses Napoleon had bought when they had first met and she dragged him still closer, guiding his arms until they moved in unison.

His face burned with embarrassment, watching as she danced before him, her body slim and svelte and far more graceful than his as he stood awkwardly at her side, his body far too tall to be a good partner.

She had her arms in his, moving them as though he was a mannequin in a store window and she was a shop girl trying to dress him. As suddenly as he had begun to shuffle his feet there was a flash of movement and he felt the sharpness of his own palm striking the side of his face.

Surprise flashed through him.

He froze, glaring down at the smiling girl, finding her laughing. “Sorry.” She said between laughter, taking his arms again and continuing in her movements.

It took another moment of dancing before he could once again relax, the shuffle of his feet a welcome sight to her for when she first saw his movements her face lit up, bright as the silver moon that streamed through the window. She struck him again, his hand as surprising, if not more, than the first time and he gave her a stern look, though she could see the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile.

“Don’t make me put you over my knee.” he growled.

She looked up at him with such fire in her eyes that for a moment he was taken aback, his mouth falling agape. Gaby pushed back her sunglasses, carefully folding the legs of the glasses and tossing them over her shoulder. “So you do want to wrestle?” she asked coolly, licking her bottom lip.

Illya opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Gaby Teller’s body launching into his. He was forced to the ground, her shoulders catching him around the middle and knocking the breath from his body. They crashed backwards, though the wooden coffee table and the carefully laid game of chess, and they rolled around on shards of wood and slabs of broken chess pieces.

The marble was cold as ice against his back where his shirt had ridden up. For her size she was strong, pinning him to the ground with one knee on his chest and the other on his shoulder. If it was an enemy Illya could have taken her down in a moment but this…this was Gaby.

She was beautiful, her eyes wide and her smile bright, sitting atop his as causally as thought he were a living room chair. Her hair had come free from its updo and fell down her shoulders; the ends ticking his face gently and he couldn’t help but break into a smile.

 Pushing his hips upward he was able to turn her on her side but to his surprise she used his own weight against him, rolling him backwards until another coffee table fell prey to them and one of the yellow fabric chairs was thrown into the far wall.

The noise was deafening. Flower pots and vases and chess pieces breaking across the room, wood crunching beneath their bodies as they wrestled. Illya felt sorry for whoever had the room beneath them.

They wrestled and then all at once they weren’t.

He had her hand pinned down by his own, her knee pressed down on his hip, holding him to the carpeted floor with her own weight. She held herself carefully, almost practiced, and he sensed there as something she had not told them.

Her hand slipped through his until he had her elbow and then her shoulder, cradling herself against him. Her breath smelled of drink but also of mint from the dessert she had eaten earlier in the night and after her hair had fallen around her shoulders the smell of lavender was apparent in the air.

It was a moment he had not expected but one he wished he could stay in for hours instead of minutes. Her eyes were soft and deep, sweeping over his face as thought she was an artist trying to memorize her subject and so close to his own her lips were almost irresistible.

His stomach twisted as her head dipped lower and lower still and he was sure they would meet his, as he had so desired for so long. But as soon as the moment began it came to a screeching halt and as sure as he had been that he would kiss her he did not.

The drink had finally hit her with the force of a blow and Gaby had fallen into a deep sleep, not able to be roused even as he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the wreckage that had become their suite and into her bed.

He pushed aside the blankets with his arm and laid her upon the soft white featherbed. It was something he had never done and yet it came naturally, and she shivered, Illya moving to tuck the robin’s egg blankets under her chin and around her body.

With one last, lingering gaze upon her he turned to leave, only to be held in place by her hand twining through his. Had his ears deceived him or had he heard her whisper his name? But as soon as she had held him tightly her hand went slack and fell back against the bed.

Switching off the lamp Illya smiled and whispered, “Good night little chop shop girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! And I hope everyone loved this scene as much as I did :)


End file.
